


The Puzzle Is Carved into Me

by secretspeller



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Addresses Zayn's Departure, Alcohol, Amnesia, Hospitals, M/M, Multi, Secrets, Threesome - M/M/M, bad choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:17:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4856048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretspeller/pseuds/secretspeller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Shit, does Harry even remember him? Harry must not remember that they’re together, the three of them. Did Niall tell him? Is that the kind of shock you have to avoid with amnesia? Louis has no idea. He has no idea how he should be acting. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Puzzle Is Carved into Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alwaysenduphere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysenduphere/gifts).



> Thanks to alwaysenduphere for the prompts and to Justrae and everyone else who made this exchange happen for being super extra helpful and great. 
> 
> The title is from 'From the Mouth of an Injured Head' by Radical Face.

Louis watches as Harry’s eyes blink slowly open. It’s such a familiar sight that it takes Louis a second to realize what it means now and here.

“He’s awake,” Louis whispers. Then louder, “He’s waking up.”

It’s been three long weeks of waiting in the hospital as Harry’s condition improved and then stopped improving. They had been so scared at first when they brought Harry in unconscious after falling headfirst off the stage during a soundcheck. It had been three weeks since then, though, three weeks when Harry didn’t wake up. Three weeks of Louis learning to carry a conversation by himself. Three weeks of hospital food. Three weeks of learning to ignore the hospital white noise of quiet beeping and the smell of disinfectant and crying strangers.

Louis had spent a lot of time in hospitals. He would stop by to see his mom on her long shifts sometimes, or pick her up from work. Hospitals had never really meant fear and grief for him they way they did for other people. Until now. Until Harry in a coma. Now he wants to sob every time he smells rubbing alcohol.

But Harry is awake now, and everything is chaos in his hospital room. Slumbering machines start beeping and the nurses rush in and push Louis and Gemma out of the room.

Gemma looks at him in the hallway. They’re standing far apart, and Louis just inhales a shaky breath. “He opened his eyes.”

Louis doesn’t know what he should be doing now. His role has been talking to Harry, getting Harry to wake up, making sure Harry knows he has people here who need him, and now he’s in the hallway and useless.

“You text the boys and I’ll call mum.” Gemma says after a nurse pushes them gently out of the hallways and towards the small visitors lobby.

Louis pulls out his phone and texts Niall “H awake will update love you love you love you.” Liam gets “H awake will update.” He stares at his message thread with Zayn for a second, trying to decide. He deleted all of his past messages from Zayn in a rush of anger a few months back, and all he has now is a series of three texts he sent Zayn about Harry’s accident with no replies from Zayn. He finally sends “H awake,” and leaves off the ‘if you care.’

Niall gets there first, less than an hour later. He bundles Louis up in a tight hug and kisses his hair and his shoulder. He whispers “Harry,” into Louis’s shoulder over and over, and Louis nods. Niall smells like sweat and his hair is greasy and Louis thinks he probably skipped a shower to get here faster.

It’s been rough the last three weeks for the two of them. Harry was such a critical part of the little world the three of them built together. Louis has felt achingly lonely in their big bed with just Niall. He’s missed Harry every morning and every night and every minute of the day in fluctuating amounts. And then he’s been worried sick too. That comes in waves though, long seconds where he trusts that Harry will come back to him, followed by cresting peaks of panic and fear and desperation. He feels so lucky to have Niall. Niall who is right there with him worrying about Harry, missing Harry, loving Harry. Niall who will whisper with Louis for hours in the dark under their blanket about how overwhelmed and lost and broken Louis feels. Niall who feels it all too.

“Can we see him?” Niall asks Louis in the hospital waiting room.

Louis shakes his head. “Not yet.”

Niall sits next to Louis in the row of attached plasticky arm chairs. He holds Louis’s hand the way he always does, gently but deliberately, Like the way Louis imagines him holding ducklings as a kid. Louis feels a little stupid that Niall clearly dropped everything to get here, and now he just has to sit and wait, but Louis would want to be there, if he were Niall.

Over the next hour the waiting room fills with Harry’s family and friends. His mother. Their band. Harry’s favorite manager and publicist. Simon Cowell’s assistant. Harry’s bodyguard.

Liam comes with a small stuffed cat that says ‘get well soon’ on its pink paws with him in a plastic bag. Louis is oddly touched by the idea that a stuffed cat might make Harry feel better. He wonders if Liam bought it before and was saving it until Harry could see it or if he stopped somewhere to buy it. He nudges Niall and points it out to him when Liam isn’t looking.

Nick brings two dozen cups of coffee and a huge bouquet of flowers. “I don’t know, I thought I should bring something but I didn’t know what you bring,” He says, shoving a cup of coffee into Louis’s hands and kissing everyone hello. These three weeks have taught Louis to like Nick much more than he had before. He’s learned to read this gesture, to see in it how much Nick really does love Harry and how much he genuinely wants to make things easier for all of them, instead of just seeing it as intrusive and show-offish like he might’ve before.

Anne cries on Niall’s shoulder and holds Louis’s hand.

They’ve pulled together, Louis, Niall, Anne, and Gemma. Harry’s family was never bad about Harry dating Niall and Louis, but Louis is pretty sure they never quite got it either, the way it’s the three of them, all wrapped up together, their own little family. They understand now though. He is so grateful that Anne and Gemma treat them like part of Harry’s family. They could so easily have shut them out, but instead Louis and Niall were there for every meeting, ever decision. Louis hates how it’s happened, hates that Harry is hurt, but he is so grateful for the way his family accepted them.

Zayn doesn’t come. Louis wishes he were surprised, but he isn’t.

Finally a doctor comes out to the waiting room and pulls Anne aside. They whisper together for a minute, and everyone is quiet, as if maybe they can overhear. Anne listens with wide eyes.

She sits back down after they finish talking. “They said he’s out of the coma, but he’s resting for now,” she says and Louis’s eyes fill with tears. “He said,” She says, and takes a deep breath. “He said he doesn’t remember since 2010. They’re not sure if he ever will.”

It doesn’t feel real to Louis. He can’t even imagine what that means. The last five years, that’s almost the whole band. That’s him falling in love with Louis and Niall. That’s them learning to be together. That’s four albums and four tours. Five years. Five years.

They file in to see Harry, sleeping but not comatose, one by one. Louis kisses Harry’s hand, the hand he’s held for hours and hours while hoping Harry might wake up, and whispers that he loves him.

They resume their schedule of cycling each of them through Harry’s room in ones and twos. Niall is with Harry when he wake up again the next morning. He texts Louis to let him know. Louis is next, scheduled to go and sit with Harry in two hours, and he spends the hour and a half before he leaves jittery with nerves.

Harry doesn’t remember anything since 2010. Louis tries to remember when Harry was like in 2010 and what they talked about. Louis had been so gone for him, even from the beginning, he had wanted to impress Harry and make him like him the best of everyone. When he thinks about Harry then, mostly what he remembers is Harry’s smile and his hands and his absurd hair and the way Louis felt when he made Harry laugh.

He changes his shirt twice, and then shoves his laptop into his backpack. If worse comes to worse they can watch movies.

Niall is leaning close to Harry when Louis walks into the room, and as usual, Louis is a little staggered by how much he love both of them.

Shit, does Harry even remember him? Harry must not remember that they’re together, the three of them. Did Niall tell him? Is that the kind of shock you have to avoid with amnesia? Louis has no idea. He has no idea how he should be acting.

He kisses Niall on the cheek as a hello. Mates do that, right? It’s innocuous?

“Lou,” Harry whispers. So he does know Louis then.

“Hazza,” Louis says. It’s his interview voice, big and confident, and Niall gives him a look that says that he noticed the act.

“Missed you,” Harry says. His voice is quiet and scratchy, but still so deep and so Harry. “Feels like I’ve been asleep for seven years.”

“I’m here now,” Louis says all teary. “I was worried you wouldn’t remember us,” Louis adds.

“I remember you,” Harry says, “I remember The X Factor. Up to the end, when we lost.”

Louis can hear in Harry’s voice how fresh the loss is, and he remembers in a rush how he felt in the weeks after they lost. The triumph and the disappointment and how exhausting the uncertainty and the what’s-next of it was.

“Niall says we’re doing well.” Harry says, a little uncertain.

“Oh Haz,” Louis says, “So well.” He wants to make a joke about how much pussy Harry could get, but it feels weird with Harry not knowing about his own romantic relationships. Unless Niall’s has told him?

Louis glanced at Niall, but Niall is just grinning at both of them. Louis is pretty sure it would be obvious if Niall had told Harry they were together.

Niall squeezes Harry’s upper arm to say goodbye and Louis settles into the visiting chair.

Harry reaches up and touches Louis face gently, the edge of his cheek where his stubble ends. “You look so different,” he says. “Niall doesn’t, but you do.”

Louis wants to get in bed with Harry and kiss his dumb face. He wants to put his hands on Harry’s belly and his shoulders and his hair and just touch him. He wants to hug him for a few hours. He wants to tuck his head onto Harry’s shoulder and sway in a sort of slow dance. Louis loves him so much that it’s too big for his body. He feels shattered with love.

It seems unkind to suddenly spring that on Harry. Like, it's the future and you’ve forgotten everything and I am in love with you and so is Niall and you love us back. What does Harry even do with that knowledge? He can’t just be Louis and Niall’s Harry if he doesn’t remember, he can’t just start loving them.

Louis doesn’t know how to talk to Harry like he isn’t in love with him. He’s pretty sure he’s never known.

He settles for pulling out his laptop. “I brought movies for you.” He says. “Scoot over.”

Harry moves over slowly, his arms are stiff, he says, and everything is sore. Louis tucks himself into the six inches between Harry and the edge of his narrow hospital bed. It reminds him of years of sneaking into his bed on the tour bus. It isn’t really close enough for Louis, but his arm and Harry’s are pressed together and it helps a little bit.

They watch Ratatouille until the physical therapist comes to take Harry for an assessment. He’s lost a lot of strength and flexibility, probably, and it will take a lot to get him back as strong as he was before his accident.

Louis stays in Harry’s room. He reads some of the cards people have sent him. There are, of course, thousands and thousands of cards from fans. They have bags of them at their house, waiting for Harry because Louis and Niall didn’t know what to do with them. There was a huge drive of fan donations to brain injury research and support groups, which made Louis cry. One of the organizations sent Harry a card for each donation with the donor’s name and the amount, along with a short message. Louis read a lot of those while he waited for Harry to wake up. Most of the donations were only a few dollars, but somehow they added up to almost $20,000. Louis tweeted from Harry’s account to thank everyone because that money meant so much, not just for Harry but for everyone with brain injuries and their families.

He texts Niall, ‘Did you tell him about us?’ once he finishes poking through Harry’s cards.

‘Couldn’t figure out how.’ Niall sends back.

‘Me neither.’ Louis sends. He stares at his phone trying to figure out how to explain why the idea of telling Harry fills him with so much dread. ‘It’s a lot’ is what he settles on.

‘Yeah’ Niall sends back.

‘You know how you can’t give people with amnesia big shocks?’ Louis sends.

‘I think that’s just the movies Lou.’ Niall replies.

‘I don’t know but I don’t think we should tell him.’ Louis sends. ‘Not until he remembers.’

‘They said he might never remember everything’ Niall replies after a long time.

‘He’ll remember us,’ Louis sends because Harry has to. He has to remember them.

A few weeks later, Louis, Niall, and Harry are watching Avengers when Harry pauses the movie in the middle of an on-screen conversation.

“Why hasn’t Zayn come to see me?” Harry asks. Liam had laid out the broad strokes of the band’s history for him, the albums and tours and big changes. And Zayn. “Even if he’s left the band, why hasn’t he come to see me?” Harry’s voice sounds so young, even in his grown up baritone, and Louis doesn’t understand what time has done to how he speaks.

“It was hard on him,” Louis says. “It was hard on all of us, how miserable he was, and you know how Zayn is when he’s miserable.” Sharp. Zayn has always been sharp when he’s unhappy.

One time after an especially rough rehearsal on The X Factor, Louis had teased Zayn about his dance moves a little too soon or maybe a little too well,

“Can you go be a bitch somewhere else, mate,” Zayn had told Louis.

Louis had laughed it off, made a joke about knowing when he wasn’t wanted, and slung his arm around Harry’s shoulders, let Harry coo over his wounded pride.

Now though that memory cuts a little bit.

Harry nods and shrugs in a way Louis knows means that Harry doesn’t really understand.

Niall has been quietly listening to the conversation. He’s picking at his cuticles in the nervous habit the three of them seem to share.

“You probably don’t know this yet,” Niall says, “but touring is a lot of work. It’s great, but some of it is exhausting, and it wasn’t what Zayn wanted anymore. He had to keep doing it for ages after he was done and I guess,” he shrugs, “it got to him.”

Louis thinks he’s done, but Niall takes a deep breath, meets Harry’s eyes, and says, “Some people think it was drugs, and I don’t want you to read that and, like, think it’s true. We all drink, and we all get high, and Zayn needed to, sometimes to perform, but that wasn’t why he quit. He needed it because he needed out.”

Harry’s eyes are wide and Louis wonders if he understands yet how much of a rockstar he is, with all the good and bad that comes with that. Sometimes Louis isn’t sure even he understands the shape of Harry’s life, the ways he’s pushed into odd configurations by everyone’s expectations of him and his own expectations of himself. Harry loves being in One Direction, maybe the most of all of them, but it’s hard on him. It’s hard on all of them, but it came on slowly. For Harry it’s going to come rushing back all at once, how hard he pushes himself, how exhausting it is.

Louis knows how lucky they are, he really does, but he hates watching Harry work himself to exhaustion to avoid disappointing anyone.

“But why won’t he come see me?” Harry asks. He sounds so young, so young and small and hurt and Louis doesn’t know how to help him.

“I don’t know, Hazza,” Louis says quietly instead of hugging Harry.

Two weeks later, Anne texts Louis and Niall to ask where they thought Harry should go after he’s discharged from the hospital.

Louis immediately wants to say Harry should come home to them. Harry should come to his house and sleep in his bed. But he can see why it’s something they should discuss. Anne is Harry’s mother, and maybe it would be better for him to be with someone he can remember more of than just a few months. 

In the end, they decide Harry should stay with Niall and Louis. Their house is close to the hospital, and since the tour has been postponed and the band is more or less on break until Harry recovers, the two of them have lots of time to make sure Harry has everything he needs.

“Do you think we should tell Harold,” Niall asks while they’re waiting for the elevator. “About us, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” Louis says carefully. “It seems like a big shock. Like if you woke up tomorrow and it was five years in the future and two of your friends kept insisting you were in love with them.”

They step into the elevator and Louis pushes the button for the garage. It’s just the two of them in the little mirrored world of the elevator.

Niall nods. “It’s a lot to put on him,” He says. “He doesn’t remember picking us.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. He thinks about it for a second. Just imagining how it would feel to wake up to that. “I think if we told him it would be, like, like we were expecting something from him.”

Niall bites his thumb nail and nods.

Louis wonders if maybe they should tell Harry that they -- Niall and Louis -- are dating. Harry is smart, and if he’s living with them, he’ll figure it out, probably.

Harry told them once that he had been really intent on getting the two of them together.

They had been drinking terrible rum cocktails Niall made in the kitchen of their house just after they moved in. It was Louis’s third house since the band, and Louis had hated both the previous ones. They felt cold and empty. He had only stayed in them for a few weeks every year, so it had seemed stupid to decorate. But Harry is a nester. Harry hung bistro lights across their back patio and tucked candles and souvenir matchbooks into little crannies and filled their bar cart with granny-style cut glass cups and weird decorative straws.

Sitting in the kitchen island with Harry while Niall put on a show of mixing cocktails, the room lit up dimly, Louis felt at home in a way he almost didn’t recognize.

Harry was watching Louis watch Niall with his smile that was somehow sleepy and intent all at once.

“You know,” Harry said, “I used to, like during the X Factor, I tried really hard to get the two of you together. I was like, obsessed with it.”

“Really?” Niall asked, theatrically twisting a strip of lemon peel over the top of their cups.

“Yeah,” Harry said. Louis thought he was going to leave it there, but then he started again. “You were both so great, and like, you kept looking at each other and I really wanted you to be happy.”

“I’m pretty happy,” Niall had said, and touched Harry’s hand with his fingertips. And even now, remembering that, Louis feels overfull with love for Niall, how he can just say things like that.

Harry smiled at Niall. It started genuine, but Niall crossed his eyes a bit and then Harry let his mouth fall open in a vacant grimace of a smile. “I think it would have killed me if you did though,” He said after a moment. “I don’t think I knew what I wanted at all really.”

That’s the Harry they have now, the one who looked at Louis and Niall and didn’t know how to imagine himself in their happiness. The one who wouldn’t let himself want them.

Louis doesn’t think he could tell that Harry about him and Niall. It seemed cruel. They would just have to not let Harry know.

Louis is quiet for a long time, lost in his memory of Harry, of all the different versions of Harry he’s known over the last five years. “I think we should hide us from Harry,” Louis says in the car on the way back to their house.

Niall nods. “I was wondering about that,” He says. “I don’t want to lie to him, but which is the worse lie, that we’re just friends or that it’s just us.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “I don’t know.”

Niall kisses him in the driveway of their house. Louis hates kissing in cars, it’s always uncomfortable, he always ends up twisted in some awful way that makes his back ache for days, but Niall’s hand is warm on his neck and the sunshine is beautiful on his skin, so he allows it, just this once.

Harry moves in with them a few days later. Louis and Niall give him the bedroom the three of them usually sleep in. It’s on the ground floor and Louis is worried about Harry falling down the stairs in the night if he decides he wants a midnight snack or something. Niall and Louis move into Louis’s favorite guest room, a little white bedroom tucked up in the eaves. It gets sunlight all morning and afternoon and it’s Niall’s favorite place in the whole house to sneak naps. They find him there a lot, when he needs to be alone for a little while, curled up on top of the white blankets on the cushy daybed in the beams of warm sunlight.

Louis gives Harry a little tour of their ground floor while Niall makes them sandwiches. Now that he’s there with Harry, it seems absurd to Louis that he thought they could hide it from Harry that he lives here. The house is full of Harry. His clove scented candles that Louis always makes fun of (clove, seriously, is their living room a pie, is it a cigarette.) The picture frame made of reclaimed wood from whiskey barrels that Harry had found in Louisiana and shipped home. The throw pillows on the couch. The hideous orange fringed lamp Harry loves, maybe ironically maybe not, Louis could never quite figure out which. The art on the walls. All of it it so obviously Harry to Louis’s eyes.

But somehow Harry doesn’t realize how much of the house is his. He touches the fringe of the ugly lamp and giggles. Louis loves him.

Louis pulls out his phone and texts Niall ‘I love him so much’ because he has to tell someone and he can’t tell Harry.

After lunch, Harry took a nap. Louis had to make a phone call about health insurance and the tour in America. Something that, apparently, only Louis himself can sort out, no pawning it off on anyone or anyone’s assistant. He’s dreading it honestly, but he takes his phone with him into bed in the sunny bedroom, and after a minute, Niall comes and curls himself around Louis.

Niall is soft skin and downy chest hair and warm hands.

Niall rubs his cheek against Louis stomach while Louis tries to make the woman on the other end of the line understand that he doesn’t have a social security number.

He finally hangs up and prods Niall in the ribs. “Can I help you, Nialler? Did you want something?” He asks. He knows Niall was bothering him because Louis hates making grown up phone calls, and it’s easier and more fun with Niall there, but he can’t stop himself from pretending to be a little annoyed.

Niall stretches like a cat and kisses Louis’s ribs through his shirt. “It’s weird.” He says and Louis knows he’s talking about how things are now with Harry.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. They’ve had a routine for the last almost three years. They fit together, the three of them. They’ve built a life together. Louis can’t figure out what it’s going to be like now. When he tries to imagine the next however long in terms of him and Niall and Harry, what it’s going to be like, he can only see uncertainty. He doesn’t tell Niall any of that. He should, it would probably make him feel better. They’ve been doing this long enough that Louis knows just how Niall will look at him while Louis says it, just the way Niall’s would sound after Louis whispered that he was scared. But Louis can’t quite get the words out. He feels like such an asshole because Harry is the one with a traumatic brain injury facing down a future he didn’t remember picking, and here Louis is complaining about his love life.

Eventually Niall falls asleep with his head on Louis’s thigh while Louis sends business emails from his phone. He schedules the meeting with Harry’s medical team and the One Direction team and Harry’s family for the next Thursday and then lets himself get lost in his thoughts on the last five years and all the history Harry has lost.

The first two years the three of them had all fucked each other a lot. It was fun and easy. Trading hand-jobs quick in toilet stalls. Fucking late at night and crashing on the floor of hotel rooms. Making out backstage with the sharp edge of don’t-get-caught. They were young and hot and, in Louis and Niall’s cases, gay and professionally closeted and unable to find strangers to get off with.

When Louis asked Harry what he was, back in the early days of the band, Harry had just shrugged. “I like people,” he said and then went to sneak up behind Liam and see if he could startle him by licking the back of his neck.

Later Harry had settled on queer for himself. He liked watching people’s faces get more and more confused as he denied being gay, and straight, and bisexual.

Those early years had been nice, in their own way. Louis had never had so much sex. Before Harry, Louis had never had a blowjob, and then suddenly there was Harry, and Niall, and in a few cases, Harry and Niall, and Louis was so overwhelmed that it never really occurred to him to wonder what it was he really wanted, or what any of it meant.

It had been at one of Zayn’s parties. Louis, Liam, and Harry had a lot of overlap in their friends, but Zayn ran with his own crowd. Zayn’s parties were always fun because they were full of people Louis had never met, people with awful tattoos and obvious drug problems, mostly.

But there had been one woman there. She was tall and curvy with giant wavy black hair. She was wearing a white oxford shirt and a high-waisted grey pencil skirt, and Louis wasn’t even into women, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He didn’t want to fuck her, but he maybe wanted to put his head down on her knee and have her stroke his hair a bit.

He was really high.

Zayn had hooked his chin over Louis’s shoulder, wrapped his arms around Louis’s middle, and followed Louis’s gaze. “You want me to introduce you, bro?” Zayn asked.

“Yeah,” Louis had said, swaying a bit in Zayn’s arms.

Her name was Cristina Ortiz. She was an American and she worked as a club promoter and fashion designer in New York City. Lots of people laughed at all Louis’s jokes because he was famous and reasonably attractive, but Cristina didn’t. She was completely unimpressed by Louis’s boy-band fame, and Louis found himself wanting to impress her with his wit. She was even more beautiful up close. Her skin was light brown and was so clear it was almost glowing. She had big dark eyes and long eyelashes. Louis thought she was the kind of woman who drag queens wanted to impersonate. Powerful. Commanding.

After a few minutes of Louis trying to make her laugh, a skinny boy wandered up to them and tucked himself under one of her arms.

He’s gay, Louis thought, in the vague half formed way he noticed those things.

Then the boy kissed Cristina full on the mouth, a little bit too dirty for polite company.

She broke the kiss by laughing.

“Louis have you met my boyfriend Marcel?” She asked.

Louis shook his head dumbly and offered his hand for Marcel to shake. “How do you know Zayn,” he asked.

Cristina and Marcel had traded a look and then he said “Our boyfriend Galaxy did some choreo for Perrie’s group.”

And because Louis was very high he found himself mouthing ‘our boyfriend,’ and ignoring the fact that the man’s name was Galaxy.

Cristina laughed and patted Louis’s cheek a little condescendingly.

“Look at him,” she said to Marcel. “Do you think we should help him figure it out?”

“Galaxy is both of our boyfriend,” Cristina said, as if Louis were only a little bit stupid. “We’re a trio,” She added a moment later, when Louis just gaped at her.

“But how do you --” He tried to ask. “Three of you?” He finished. He felt like an idiot. He knew in an abstract sort of way that there were people who dated in threes and fours and probably sevens and fifteens and twenty sixes, but Louis had never met anyone who did before. Or at least not that he knew about. Not someone who casually told you about their two boyfriends at a party.

Marcel nodded and Louis tried to figure out how to ask the questions he wanted to know the answers to. He felt like the first time he had met a gay person. The way he couldn’t stop himself from asking questions even though he knew he was being obnoxious and intrusive, and even though he knew the conclusions they must be jumping to about him.

Louis had spent that night on one of Zayn’s couch. Zayn had the best couches in the world. Louis once let himself into Zayn’s house just to nap on his couch. Zayn had fallen over laughing when Louis told him about that.

The morning after the party he had googled for hours, hungover and achey, but too curious to wait.

He had emailed Harry and Niall a youtube video. It was of a young Asian American woman with an undercut talking sincerely to the camera. It was entitled ‘My Polyamory Story.’ He couldn’t figure out what to say about it, so he just sent the link with no context.

*

In the week before the big meeting, they fall into a sort of routine. One of them takes Harry to the hospital for his doctors’ appointments and physical therapy appointments in the morning. Usually they end up having lunch at the hospital, then they come home and Harry naps or watches movies or Skypes with his mother or sister until dinner. They eat together, and then watch movies or talk until late. On mornings when Harry doesn’t have to go to the hospital he floats between the two of them, bored and a little bit anxious. Louis doesn’t blame him, exactly, he’s lost the last five years and the world is not as he expects it to be, but Louis and Niall both need to do work. They’re both writing and there’s a never ending stream of emails and phone calls and appointments and it’s hard to juggle all of that with Harry and his amnesia. It’s not an especially sustainable schedule, eventually they’re going to have to start working for real again, but it feels almost like a break.

Liam and Nick visit a lot. Liam sits across the table from Harry and has earnest conversations with him about The Band and Liam’s life, and sometimes the state of the world. Harry doesn’t remember knowing Nick at all. It’s weird to watch Harry getting to know Nick all over again. Louis knows Nick this time, and likes him in all his odd, demonstrative, show-offish ways. Nick brings Harry gossip magazines and pop music and junk food.

Zayn never visits, and Louis hates him for it. Harry talks about Zayn a lot. He tells Louis stories about Zayn on the X Factor that Louis had forgotten. Reminds Louis about the way Zayn would hum to himself whenever he he forgot people were around to hear him and the weird affected way he used to walk when he was trying to impress girls.

“Do you miss him?” Harry asks.

“Yeah,” Louis says, “but, I don’t know, by the end he was so done with us, not just the band.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, he just watches Louis.

Harry is sitting with Louis one afternoon in the sunroom with his guitar. Harry had been getting pretty good before his accident. Oddly, most of that skill has stayed with him even while his memories have been locked away. According to the doctors, that’s normal, something about brain areas and types of memories, but it's still weird for Harry to be able to play songs he can’t remember learning.

“It's like,” Harry says, “You know when you’re driving and you aren’t paying attention so you end up at your house instead of the store?” Louis nods, “It’s like that but in my hands. Like if I look away they’ll take me home.”

Louis fixes that phrase in his mind. He has a file on his computer with half a song about Harry and his memory. He hasn’t told Harry or Niall about it, and he can’t imagine showing it to the band to sing, but it gives him something to do with all his thoughts.

Harry plays the chorus of ‘Story of My Life’ for the sixth time.

“When we were in Japan one time we sang that a cappella,” Louis tells Harry to distract him from singing it a seventh time. “Just us. We made the crowd be quiet so we could hear each other and sang it into one microphone. They filmed it for the movie. Can’t remember if it made it in, but it was sick.”

“I still can’t believe we went to Japan,” Harry says. “Can you find that online? Can we watch it?”

They make their way to Louis’s laptop and Louis searches until he finds a good version.

“That’s amazing,” Harry says when the video ends. “We sound so good together.” He points to the thumbnail of another video and they watch the five of them sing ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ with just an acoustic guitar. Then ‘Night Changes.’ They fall down into watching more and more concert clips of themselves.

It’s such a limited view of the last five years. So much of what really matters to Louis is not the songs or the concerts but the little moments when they go on walks around the big empty stadiums. Waking up together in the morning. Drinking Niall’s consistently terrible cocktails. But those moments aren’t usually caught on video. The concert videos and interviews are all he can offer Harry.

“Do you like him?” Louis asks Harry. “The person you are?” He wants to know what his Harry looks like to this Harry.

“I like my hair,” Harry says, which is not really an answer, but Louis knows what he means, he thinks. He means something like that he likes the way he has decided to look how he wants no matter what people say. Louis wants to touch Harry’s hair, but he doesn’t.

Niall finds them eventually, throws himself onto the couch with them, and makes them watch all their music videos.

“Why am I wearing a coat in the desert?” Harry asks and Louis and Niall burst out laughing.

The big meeting to discuss Harry’s immediate future is a disaster. There are too many of them for the room the planned to use. They end up moving from the neurology conference room to the Founders’ Memorial Library, which is bigger, but not as private and by then the details about which hospital was doing Harry’s treatment had slipped out, and they have to call in extra security in order to keep the room secure enough for three members of an internationally famous boyband, especially since one of them is Harry Styles, the sweetheart of the world, who has only grown in popularity since his injury. Once they finally get settled in, it turns out that the room is reserved for a meeting of hospital donors.

All of them, including Harry, have been crisscrossing the hospital for what seems like hours and Louis can see how exhausted Harry is. He knows the look Harry gets when he’s past what he can take but doesn’t know how to back out. It’s worse now, because Harry had gotten better at hiding it from Louis over the years, but all of that is gone, and Louis watches helpless as Harry starts blinking very forcefully and clenches his jaw. He wants to yell at everyone that Harry is exhausted, Harry, the most important person in the room, who pushed himself so hard to get to this meeting even though he has a fucking brain injury and only just woke up from a coma.

Louis is great at yelling at people who upset Harry. He has maybe described it as his vocation when they were drunk and giggly together. But he doesn’t know who to yell at to get them to stop making Harry look like he might be about to cry from trying so hard.

Louis is so distracted with his helplessness about Harry he isn’t looking at Niall when he starts talking.

“Maybe we could go to the cafe?” Niall asks. “I’m starving.” Niall doesn’t usually say much in these meetings. That’s something Louis loves about Niall, the way he is comfortable not speaking. But this time Louis knows that Niall just found them a place to go that only requires a short walk and an elevator ride, and Niall made it about him and his stomach instead of about how Harry still isn’t all the way better. Louis wants to kiss him, but instead Louis tries to express how clever and kind Niall is with just his eyes.

They end up blocking off the cafe in the lobby. Niall buys a cheese danish and enough tea for everyone, and Louis tips the cafe all the money in his wallet. Harry smiles at the owner, and that’s probably about as effective as Louis’s tip as a thank you. A smile from the recovering sweetheart of the world who you just saved from exhaustion.

They finally settle in to discuss Harry’s immediate future. Louis is sitting across from Harry, and he wants to hook his foot around Harry’s ankle under the table the way they have since they were scared teenagers on the X Factor, but he doesn’t because now that gesture means ‘I love you,’ and they’ve decided they aren’t going to tell Harry about all of that. He hooks his foot around his own ankle instead and does his best to look like a serious businessman.

Harry’s physical recovery is progressing better than anyone expected. Louis isn’t really surprised, Harry was so healthy before his injury, of course he’s doing well. Mentally though, Harry hasn’t gotten any of his memories back.

Anne starts to cry when they get to that part. Harry puts his head on her shoulder.

“These things take time,” the doctor says. “There’s really no way to tell except to wait.”

Harry nods and Louis wants to kick the doctor’s shins. Instead he squeezes Niall’s hand hard under the table. Niall squeezes back just as hard.

One of the publicists suggests that maybe they should resume touring without Harry as soon as possible. They have so many shows to make up and they just keep piling up. “It’s how we normally handle things like this,” he says, as if it isn’t his choice how to handle it.

“Absolutely not,” Louis says, before anyone can argue in favor.

“I’m with Louis,” Niall says.

A few of the people from the record label look ready to argue, so Louis pulls out his phone and calls Liam from his favorites. When he hears Liam pick up, he says “Liam, you’re on speaker phone. How do you fancy touring without our Harold next week?” He lets his distaste show in his voice.

Liam, bless him, answers “I don’t think it’s a good idea. That’s what I think,” his voice all stern and considered.

“Thanks, that’s all.” Louis says and hangs up quickly. He feels equal parts furious and mirthful. He raises his eyebrows and stares at the publicist across the table.

Louis knows he’s a nightmare, but he refuses to start back up touring so soon without Harry. He refuses to leave Harry alone.

“So that’s agreed then.” He says to the silent room.

They agree to give Harry another month before asking him to consider coming back to work. The sternest of the record label people seem to be of the opinion that in one month’s time Harry will either rejoin the band, ready to perform and do promotion just like before, or the band will move on without him. Louis is pretty sure it won’t be quite that simple, but he knows by now when to quit arguing with the steely haired men in suits and ugly ties.

He and Niall agree that the rest of One Direction will start doing interviews again soon. Louis is dreading those interviews already. He knows they’re going to be expected to get everyone excited to see Harry again, but not too excited, in case it works out that Harry won’t be returning to the band soon or ever. It’ll be exhausting, and Louis will have to sit in meetings for hours about exactly how fond of Harry he should appear.

Harry falls asleep in the car on the way home. He’s in the middle, tucked up snug between Louis and Niall. He puts his head on Niall’s chest on one of those classic Harry slouches that make his absurd mile-long limbs fit in normal-sized spaces. It’s so much like how it would have happened before. Harry demanding the middle seat and then somehow bending space so he could cuddle up to both of them and fall asleep. Even the position of Harry’s limbs is the same. Before Louis would have held both Harry’s hands in his. He wonders if Harry’s body remembers the routine, if it can feel the absence of Louis’s hands. 

Louis looks at Niall over the top of Harry’s head and wonders if Niall is thinking the same thing he is. Niall meets his eyes, and Louis is thankful for the years of concerts and interviews that have taught them to understand each other’s faces as clearly as their words. Niall is worried but okay, and tired, and Louis tries to reassure him with his face before he crosses his eyes to make Niall crack a smile.

Harry half dozes on the couch while Louis and Niall make toast and tea in the kitchen.

They find him with the blanket from the couch pulled up to his nose. It’s not long enough to cover all of him, and he’s chosen covering his chin over covering his knees. Louis sits down delicately on the couch next to his feet and clatters the spoon in his mug until he sits up. Niall sits on Harry’s other side and offers Harry a mug.

“The blanket smells familiar,” Harry says. “Not, like a memory or anything, but, like, it makes me feel like myself.” 

Louis smiles at him and wants to tell him about how often Harry wraps himself in that blanket when they watch movies. How that blanket is mostly there for Harry who is always cold, always stealing blankets from beds and tucking his fingers and toes under Louis’s and Niall’s thighs.

“It’s okay,” Harry says out of nowhere a half a slice of toast later. “You can sit next to each other.”

“What?” Louis asks.

“Like,” Harry says, spewing crumbs a little bit. “I know you’re boyfriends. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

Louis starts to say something, to deny it or confirm it, he isn’t sure which, but Harry starts speaking again first.

“I’m not an idiot. I can tell. You sleep in the same bed.” He sounds angry now. When Harry gets angry he usually just checks out, leaves the room, or sometimes the country. He doesn’t get angry a lot. One time Louis asked him how and Harry told him that he reminds himself that everyone is trying their best and everyone has bad days and can’t see past their own feelings, and that that makes it hard to get angry at anyone for very long. But that means that when Harry does get mad, he’s almost always right.

“I kept waiting for you to say something,” Harry says. “Were you ever going to say anything?”

And Louis doesn’t know if he was or not.

“I don’t know,” Niall says, before Louis can try to figure out what to say. “we’re doing our best, but there isn’t a guidebook for how to deal with when your best mate gets amnesia, there aren’t any rules.”

“I want to make rules,” Harry says. “Right now.”

Louis nods because what else could he do. Niall nods too, and squeezes Harry’s knee.

Harry is quiet for a while and finishes his toast, and then his tea. Louis doesn’t look at Harry or Niall. They’re still sitting on either side of Harry, somehow during all of that Harry never got back around to them sitting next to each other.

It’s such an adolescent way to think about love, Louis thinks vaguely. He remembers all the times he and Harry were seated away from each other, and all the times Niall disappeared to Ireland for a few days alone. He wants to tell Harry that you don’t have to sit next to someone all the time when you love them, that you don’t even need to be in the same country, that you can be apart and still come together and it can still be beautiful and precious, but it isn’t the time, and more importantly, Harry knows that, or he did before the accident anyways.

“The rule is you have to tell me things.” Harry says eventually. “Not everything, that would be, like, a lot of telling, but I want to ask you things and you have to tell me.”

“Of course,” Louis says, and Niall nods along.

“I don’t want to have to wonder if you’re lying to me.” Harry says. “I don’t understand anything, and no one will explain things to me.”

“We’ll tell you things,” Niall says.

Harry nods. “Are you together?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Louis says quietly. It’s true, he’s telling Harry the truth, but it still feels like a lie by omission.

Harry nods. “Okay,” is all he says.

Harry finds Louis in his office a few days later. He knocks on the door frame quietly to get his attention, just like he has since they moved in and Louis took over the office as his own. They had meant to share, originally, but Louis tends to let his papers sprawl out of control over everything and it drives Niall crazy, so Louis got a whole office to himself in an attempt to contain his messiness.

Harry is wearing giant sweatpants and Louis wants to know where Harry found them since he’s the tallest member of their household.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry asked, still lingering in the doorway.

“Of course,” Louis says without thinking. “Anything.”

“Are we,” Harry says quietly and Louis’s heart clenches, “Are we not close anymore, like, now?” Harry asks. His face crumples a little bit a moment later.

And Louis wants to gather Harry up in his arms and let him burrow into his chest and curl up small the way Harry likes best. He wants to pet Harry’s hair and listen to him while he tells Louis everything he’s ever worried about.

Instead he just whispers “Oh Harry. Of course not. I -- you’re my best mate, okay? Like, forever.”

Harry is so far away from him, all the way across the room. Louis knocks an armload of papers off the little couch then sits on it and pats the spot next to him for Harry. Harry folds himself onto it, drawing one of his knees up and wrapping an arm around his leg. He doesn’t let any part of himself touch Louis.

“It’s just,” Harry says, after a moment. “You don’t touch me. You haven’t, really, since the accident.” He bit at the edge of his thumb. “I thought I, I don’t know. Did I do something I don’t remember?”

Louis doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to do. It’s probably true that he doesn’t touch Harry the way he used to when he was eighteen or before Harry’s accident. But he doesn’t know what to tell Harry. Everything is such a mess of things Harry has forgotten and things Louis can’t tell him. Louis can’t tell him that to Louis every touch is a declaration of everything Louis feels for Harry and a reminder of everything Harry’s lost. He doesn’t know how to explain that without unraveling the last five years for Harry, everything that’s changed.

“It’s complicated,” Louis says, and he hates how much he sounds like his mother refusing to explain things to him when he was a child. He is suddenly reminded that Harry is, as far as Harry can remember anyways, seven years younger than Louis is. “It’s just,” Louis tries to explain even though he knows it’s a bad idea. “A lot has changed since 2010,” He says. “But I promise we’re still friends. The best of friends. You haven’t done anything.”

Harry nods a little, and Louis reaches out tentatively to pat Harry’s arm or squeeze his shoulder maybe, but Harry wraps himself around Louis in a bearhug that is so familiar that Louis lets himself think ‘I love you’ and ‘I miss you’ and ‘come back to me’ as loudly as he wants, just for a second, just while Harry can’t see his face. He somehow manages to hold down the sobs that are coming to a boil in his chest until Harry leaves to go walk in the garden around the house, but as soon as he hears Harry shut the side door, Louis can feel himself bubble over. He’s crying before he’s even off the couch, and crying in the hallways, crying on the stairs. He feels naked in the worst way. He stumbles a little on his way to the sunroom where he left Niall. Niall’s still there, still fiddling with his guitar and his laptop and, inexplicably, a tiny metal glockenspiel.

He drops all of it when he sees Louis. The wraps Louis up in a hug and lets Louis bury his snotty face in his shirt while he heaves out huge sobs. Louis fists both his hands in Niall’s shirt. He knows he’s incoherent, but he tries to gasp out some kind of explanation to Niall. He can barely breathe.

Niall hums comfortingly to him, and sways them a little bit. “You’re alright.” Niall murmurs over and over. Louis can feel his chest vibrate with his voice which helps a little. Niall hums some melody and it takes Louis a second to realize what song it is.

“Are you singing ‘Act My Age,’” he asks. He’s trying for outrage, but he thinks he sounds hysterical mostly.

“Sorry. It was all I could think of,” Niall whispers sweet and close into his hair. “Do you have any requests?”

Louis laughs at that, but he’s been crying so hard that laughing feels like crying too.

“It’s just,” He tries to explain, “sometimes it’s like we lost him. Like, he’s still here, but he’s gone too.”

*

Louis has his first interview prep meeting the next day. Someone did a press release about Harry’s brain injury a while back, and then leaked that he was staying with his family and recovering as well as could be expected. Louis’s job, they tell him, is to reassure everyone about the future of the band. He should be honest about Harry, but not the kind of honest where he lets on that Harry is living with him. He should talk up the tour and the new album, apologize to the fans for all the rescheduled shows, and thank them for supporting the band and Harry through the last few months.

Louis tucks his foot under him and tries his best while they throw practice questions at him.

When he gets home Niall and Harry are curled up together asleep on the couch with the DVD menu for ’50 First Dates’ playing on repeat.

Before Harry’s accident he would have curled up on the couch with them, or woken them up with kisses. Instead he goes into the kitchen and wakes them up by opening the cabinets to make tea for the three of them.

“Harry asked me if I still liked him today,” Niall tells Louis while they’re all tucked up in bed that night.

“What,” Louis asks. He can’t imagine any world where Niall doesn’t love Harry so much it’s obvious from even just a single strand of his hair.

“Yeah,” Niall says. “He thinks that since he lost his memory he isn’t, like, our Harry anymore.”

“He’ll always be our Harry,” Louis says, a little bit absently. He’s trying to figure out why Harry would think that.

“Yeah,” Niall says, laughing. 

Louis kisses him hard on the mouth. “And you’ll always be our Niall,” He says. Even before Harry’s accident, he and Harry sometimes overlooked Niall a little bit. It was never intentional, but Harry and Louis were so alike they could speak in half words and fall into each other for hours, somehow reflecting their energy back at each other in a perpetual loop of laughter and teasing and touches.

Harry is needy and intense, constantly soaking up attention and playfulness. He’s a delight, and Louis loves him so much he can barely look at him sometimes, but Harry is always all the way on, bright and intent like the sun. Just being around Harry is an activity all on its own, and Louis knows he can be like that too. It’s easy to get lost with Harry and in Harry and forget everything that isn’t him.

One of the things Louis loves best about Niall is that he isn’t like that. Niall is steady and thoughtful. He can be as playful as Harry, as intense and goofy, but he’s quiet and still in a way that feels like exhaling a long sigh too sometimes. Louis loves sitting quietly in a room with Niall, half listening to him playing guitar while Louis does his own stuff. Louis can be still with Niall and he never wants to forget how important that is.

Since Harry’s accident it’s been hard. Everything has been pulled into orbit around Harry and his brain and the hospital. Even when Louis and Niall are alone together and Harry is safe at home, Louis feels like part of himself is locked up in Harry’s brain along with his memories, like his life is a song and the backing vocals are Harry’s name.

He presses his face into Niall’s chest and inhales the scent of his skin. He smells like lilacs the weird handmade goats’ milk soap he buys.

“You’re amazing,” He whispers into Niall’s skin. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

“Lou,” Niall says back, and hugs him a little harder against his chest. “You too.”

If things were different, Louis would shuffle around until he could mouth at Niall’s nipples or his neck. He would put his hands in Niall’s hair, and then maybe blow him. But as it is, he can’t bring himself to do anything except press his skin against Niall’s and hope as hard as he can that everything is somehow okay.

They’re busy a lot after that. Louis hates not being home with Harry. He feels a little bit stupid about that, because Harry is an adult and he can take care of himself. They have a driver taking him to his appointments and he can watch movies and play guitar by himself as well as he can with Niall or Louis. But still, Harry was never all that great at being alone.

Louis likes interviews and hates them in equal measure. He likes talking to people. He likes meeting strangers and cracking jokes with them. He likes getting to talk with his fans, even if it’s through a magazine. But he hates having to watch every word he says and consider if there’s some way to twist what he’s saying out of context. It’s exhausting and it makes him cranky.

Louis and Niall comes home from a day of long interviews and public outings to find Harry sitting on the couch in the dark.

“Harry,” Louis says. “Alright, Harry?” God, if anything has happened to Harry he won’t be able to take it. He flips on the light and Harry moves just his eyes to watch them.

Harry swallows visibly. His face is weird. Louis can’t quite untangle everything in it. He looks pinched and tired.

“Did you give me your bedroom?” Harry finally asks. “I went through all the drawers and they’re full of your things.”

Louis can’t do anything except nod.

“Why did you do that?” Harry asks. He sounds mellow and confused in a way that Louis knows means he’s mad as hell. “That’s quite creepy. Giving me your bed where you’ve fucked to sleep in.” He says. “And not telling me, that’s really very rude.”

Louis and Niall look at each other.

“Why did you do that?” Harry asks, and Louis thinks about the rule to be honest with him, to make him feel like he can trust them. Because the truth is, he thinks they gave Harry their bed because they wanted him to recover in his own bed. The truth is that Louis feels better thinking of Harry in their bed. Like Louis and Niall and Harry left the hazy with love and maybe Harry can absorb some of it back into himself.

“We just wanted you to be comfortable,” Niall says. Louis’s glad Niall answered because he mostly wants to shut his eyes and scream ‘I don’t know what I’m doing’ until Harry has all his memories back. “Do you want to switch?” Niall asks. “We have, like, four guest rooms if you want.”

“I don’t care.” Harry says. He isn’t looking at Louis or Niall.

“It’s really no trouble if you want to switch,” Louis says.

“I don’t want to switch,” Harry says. He’s visibly angry now. “I want my memory back,” he almost yells.

Neither Louis nor Niall say anything because what is there to say. They can’t give him his memories back.

Louis watches Harry’s face as he blinks slowly with wet eyes. Louis and Niall are still in the doorway, across the room from Harry.

Harry makes a tiny helpless sound and Louis wants to rush to hug him and stroke his cheek until he stops hurting.

“I hate this,” Harry says quietly. “I hate it.”

Harry gets his first memory back three days later. Louis, Niall, and Liam at a meeting about t-shirt sourcing and ethical cotton production that Liam insisted they go to. Niall looks oddly fascinated by the hour long debate about using Brazil grown cotton for their official shirts as compared with American grown. Usually in meetings like this, Louis tries to make weird faces at Harry without being caught until Harry embarrasses himself by laughing. Louis keeps half turning to catch his eye, but Harry isn’t there, and Louis keeps awkwardly meeting eyes with an intern from their marketing team and he’s a little worried she’s going to think he’s flirting if he doesn’t stop.

Then his phone chirps with his special Harry noise. He refuses to turn it off ever, even when he’s being filmed. He knows it makes him look like a hard to work with diva type, but when he imagines Harry needing him and not being able to reach him he can’t breath.

‘I remembered something.’ Harry’s text reads. Then a second later he sends ‘Going skinny dipping in Finland.’ And Louis knows exactly what he’s talking about.

It had been just the three of them, and it had hardly counted as skinny dipping, since they had rented out a little secluded cabin all alone on a lake. It had been a few days after the end of the Where We Are Tour. Harry had rented it as a surprise for Louis and Niall, and then had ruined the surprise and told them about it immediately when he worried they would make other plans. It was that delicious time of fall when the days were hot and the nights were chilly. They had drunk hot chocolate with shots of cotton candy flavored vodka and watched the sun set over the lake. The sounds of the frogs and crickets and night birds were so different there. Niall had played The Front Bottoms’ songs on his guitar and messed up the words. Eventually, Harry lost patience with the quiet and still mood and had stripped off all his clothes and run yelling into the lake. The lake had been fed with runoff from a glacier, Louis learned later, and Harry had yelped at the cold. He had flung himself, naked and wet with icy water across Louis and Niall’s laps and demanded cuddles until he could feel his legs again.

Louis slides his phone across the table to Niall, and then kicks his shin to distract him from the conversation about something like quality control concerns, or inconsistent sizing, or honestly why does Niall care when Harry remembered something.

Niall read the text and then meets Louis’s gaze. He grins and then covers his mouth.

“Could you excuse us, please,” Louis says, already leaving the meeting room.

Niall follows him into the hall. Once the door is shut, Louis yells wordlessly with joy. Niall laughs and then joins in Louis’s yell. He knows they can hear them in the meeting room but Louis doesn’t care. He hugs Niall and then tries to lift him up and spin him like in the movies, but instead their legs tangle and they both collapse to the ground.

Louis laughs and kisses Niall high on his cheek just below his eye. Niall presses both his hands to Louis’s cheeks and kisses him for real.

Louis hears the door open, but he’s still lost in Harry getting his memory back.

“Alright, lads?” Liam asks.

Louis fishes out his phone and then passes it up to Liam. It’s locked, he’s pretty sure, but Liam knows his passcode and Louis is busy grinning into Niall’s neck on the floor.

“Oh, congratulations,” Liam says above them. And Louis loves that even after all these years, Liam hasn’t quite learned to hide when he doesn’t know the right words to say.

Liam holds out a hand to help Louis and Niall haul themselves off the floor. Louis hugs him once he’s back on his feet.

“You know,” Niall says, “he’s going to remember being with us, I think.” The memory Harry has now, there’s nothing in the content of the memory that would reveal their lie, but Louis isn’t sure how memories work. He doesn’t know if Harry will remember how he felt or just what he did. He can’t figure out what Harry would think if he did remember the feeling of that week, the sunlight and love and relaxation and closeness.

“You haven’t told him?” Liam asks. He sounds confused.

“No, Liam,” Louis says. “We haven’t told our boyfriend that before he lost his memory he was with us.” Louis tries to make it sound like it’s an absurd idea that they would have told Harry, but he doesn’t think he did a very good job.

“Why not?” Liam asks.

And Louis tries to remember why not. At this point, he thinks it’s mostly because having to tell Harry will be hard. Harry will be so hurt, he realizes suddenly. They’ve been lying to him for so long now.

“Oh God,” Louis whispers to Niall. “He’s going to remember isn’t he?”

Louis imagines in a panicked, half wild way, that Harry has already figured out that they lied. He would be so mad. He would probably go and stay with his mother, or maybe Nick, and refuse to speak to either of them. Maybe he would quit the band.

Louis can’t even think about any of that. He needs Harry in his life, in his house, his family, his band. He spent those three awful weeks imagining life without Harry. When Harry woke up it was like waking up after a nightmare, but now Louis realizes, he’s put himself back into the position of maybe losing Harry, but this time as a result of his own shortsighted stupidity.

“We have to tell him,” Louis says to Niall, “before he remembers. He’ll never forgive us.”

They find Harry in the sunroom when they get home. He grins at them and Louis can barely look at him. He loves him so much, and he has messed up so badly.

“Harry.” He says softly.

Harry barrels towards them and wraps his long arms around both their shoulders. Louis and Niall stagger a bit under the weight of his arms and the force of his hug.

“Oof.” Niall says belatedly and Harry laughs.

“What’s wrong,” Harry asks Louis after he’s pulled away. “You look, I don’t know, weird.”

“We have to tell you something,” Niall says.

Harry nods and wraps his arms around his torso. He looks scared and intense. He’s furrowed his eyebrows down like he always does when he’s listening hard.

They sit on the sofa in the sunroom and Louis looks at the slant of late afternoon sunlight across their garden. If things were just a little bit different, maybe they would be sitting here together to watch the sunset.

Harry plays with his fingers, tangling and untangling them, and he looks young.

“We,” Louis says because they have to start somewhere. “We. Niall help me out here?”

Louis can feel his pulse in his neck. He’s so nervous. This is going to go so badly, he’s sure. Harry will never forgive him.

“You know how Louis and I are, you know,” Niall made a vague gesture between Louis and himself. It seemed wholly insufficient for expressing ‘we’ve been dating for the better part of three years,’ but he leaves it up to Niall.

Harry nods.

“It’s not just Louis and me, is it.” Niall says. His voice is gentle. “It’s the three of us.” He says a moment later.

“It’s what?” Harry asks.

“Polyamory,” Louis whispers, although that probably won’t help Harry much. Niall shoots him a quick look that says he thinks Louis isn’t being all that helpful either.

“It’s you, me, and Lou who’re together. Like, the three of us. All three.” Niall tries again.

Harry squints at Niall for a long moment and then nods. “That explains, like, a lot.” He says. He sounds more tired than Louis expected.

“I’m so sorry,” Louis bursts out because he doesn’t want Harry to storm out without hearing that. “I didn’t know what to do and I just wanted you to be okay, and fuck, I love you so much.”

Harry is quiet and still.

Louis picks at his fingernails in his lap.

Niall puts his foot on top of Louis and presses down just hard enough to remind them both that they’re okay.

Finally Harry says “You didn’t tell me.”

Part of Louis wants to cut in and say that, no they did, they’re telling him right now, but he knows Harry’s right.

“We had rules,” Harry says. “You had to tell me things.”

Harry’s eyes are shiny and wet. And, oh, Louis thinks, he’s hurt Harry so much, he’s gone so wrong trying to keep him from being hurt.

“Harry,” Louis whispers, because he can’t look at Harry like this and not want to fix the world for him.

“It was just,” Niall says, “we knew you didn’t remember us, and we didn’t want you to feel pressured. To like, be something for us you didn’t want to be.”

“So instead you lied to me for months.” Harry says, cold like the ocean in January.

“It was a mistake,” Louis says. It was his mistake, his fault, he’s the one who messed this up so badly. “I made a mistake. It was my idea and I --” he cuts off to sniff and rub at his eyes. He knows that Harry and Niall will know he’s crying, but it seems horrible to cry now. Like he’s trying to make Harry feel bad for him after everything he did.

“We won’t,” Louis starts, “We can -- whatever you need. If you want to move out, I’m sure Nick would be happy to have you, or I can call Anne, or we can find you a hotel. That might take a few days because it has to be, you know, safe, but if that’s what you want we can do that,” Louis says, all in a rush under the crush of building tears and regret and guilt. He wants to fix everything for Harry, maybe if he fixes everything Harry will forgive him, maybe then he can forgive himself. 

“Lou.” Harry says after Louis runs himself out of words. “I don’t, I don’t want to move out. This -- here is --- I.” He stops speaking and then starts again. “It feels like home here. Like, I can go up the stairs in the dark and know where the steps are.” And Louis doesn’t point out that Harry most definitely cannot walk up the stairs in the dark, in any house. “I think I just, want to be alone, for a while. Like, not be around you.” Harry says.

Louis nods and hates himself.

“Anything you need,” Niall says softly.

“We’re in a band together,” Harry says, “and I need to learn to not be,” he laughs a little bit, “furious with you.”

Louis nods. There isn’t anything to say.

It isn’t as bad as it could be, Louis knows. Harry doesn’t quit the band, he doesn’t move out, and when he runs into Louis or Niall in the kitchen, Harry isn’t even uncivil to them. He’s a perfectly respectful housemate. He moves into one of the guest rooms, the big sunny blue one at the back of the house. Louis is pretty sure he spends a lot of time at Nick’s, but Louis tries to make himself stop following Harry’s every move, so he isn’t sure. Nick sends Louis and Niall a ‘fuck you for hurting him’ text out of nowhere, and Louis can’t meet Harry’s eyes the next time he sees him. A few days after that Nick sends them a ‘Harry says I have to say sorry.’ Louis doesn’t point out that nowhere in that text does he actually apologize because it doesn’t matter. Nick is right. Nick is fucking right.

It’s sad. Louis is sad a lot. It’s his own fault, and he knows he has no right to complain, but every time he thinks about Harry it hurts.

Two weeks after Harry got his first memory back, Harry stands in the door of Louis's office watching him write emails for a long time. He’s back lit by the sun and he looks like something from mythology, all long limbed and strong and curly haired.

“You’re beautiful,” Louis says without thinking. “Sorry,” He adds, when he realizes what he said.

That seems to be Harry’s cue to stop lurking and he slouches in and collapses onto Louis’s office couch, on top of the scattered papers and accumulated trash.

Louis doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He watches Harry because Harry is here, now, and he’s barely seen Harry for two weeks.

Harry watches him back and then eventually asks “is Niall around?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, “I’ll just, should I text him? Do you want to talk to him? Us?” Louis doesn’t know how to talk to Harry anymore.

Harry nods, and then looks away from Louis and starts picking at his cuticles.

Niall shows up a few minutes later. He looks at Harry on the couch and then perches on the edge of Louis’s desk instead of sitting next to him.

“I think,” Harry says. “I think I’m ready to, like, fix things.”

Louis nods and waits for Harry to say more but he doesn’t for a long time.

“I want to come back on tour,” Harry says, “for the rest of the shows, and they say I can, but I can’t like this.” He gestures between the three of them. “I’m so mad, when I think about it, I’m so mad. I didn’t know I could be angry like this.”

Louis can hear it in Harry’s voice, even though he’s being conversational, there’s something unmovable and red hot underneath his words.

“But I have to, I don’t know, forgive you, I guess.”

“I’m so sorry,” Louis says. “I know it doesn’t change anything, but I am.”

“Me too,” Niall says, “We were trying, but we messed up.”

Harry nods and watches his hands. “That doesn’t change anything, but, like, thanks.” He says. Louis knows he doesn’t mean it to be harsh, but Louis feels himself crumple a little in his chest.

“What will it take for you to forgive us?” Louis asks. He’s afraid of the answer. Afraid Harry is going to say that he can’t, that he never will, but he has to know. “It’s okay if there’s nothing we can do, but if there’s anything, anything -- whatever you need.”

Harry shrugs, and then plays with the edge of his jumper. “I think, mostly, like, time and more of my memories, basically.” He says. “I can feel how much I love you, and I think I probably knew what I was doing, like, before, when I fell in love with you.” It feels so huge to hear Harry say he loves them again. It’s like some sort of giant flower exploding into bloom in fast forward time lapse in Louis’s chest. He can’t breathe around it. The feeling of love is lodged in, next to his lungs and his liver, pushing everything aside to make room. “I don’t know, like, future me thinks you’re worth it and I should trust him that we’re better together, I think.”

“We are,” Niall says quietly. “We are so good together Harry. Honestly, you’re so happy with us.” Louis nods. It feels a little bit cocky to say it, but they make Harry happy, Louis knows they make Harry happy.

“But you have to tell me things,” Harry says, still tired and sad. “You can’t love me and not tell me everything. I have to, like, trust everyone to tell me things, and you fucked that up.”

Louis nods and wants to squeeze Harry’s hand. Harry hugs his arms around his own torso.

“You have to tell me everything.” Harry says, he sounds close to tears. Sad and frustrated and tired. “No matter how long it takes you have to tell me everything.” Louis and Niall nod. “Promise.” Harry says. He scrubs at his eyes with his fingers while Louis and Niall nod their promises. For some reason, Harry wiping away his tears is all it takes for Louis to burst into tears, his whole body shaking and heaving with everything that’s happened to the three of them.

“That ugly orange lamp in the living room is your favorite. You picked it out and you love it.” Louis says through his tears. “One time you fell down the stairs and scuffed the wall and I scrubbed it off before you saw it because I didn’t want you to be embarrassed.” He sounds hysterical. “We love you so much.”

Harry is crying for real now, there are tears running down his face, and Niall presses his face into Louis shoulder. And they’re crying, all three of them. Even though it’s sad and lonely and Louis aches inside for everything lost and changed and ruined since Harry’s accident, Louis still feels closer to Harry than he has since.

Louis and Niall take Harry on another tour of the house. They start with his awful lamp, and tell him all the stories they can think of. All the parties and the conversations and cozy nights in and scarfed breakfasts before rushing off to be famous pop stars together. Louis thinks that he wants to tell Harry everything, everything he’s forgotten. Now that he’s started he can’t imagine not. He thinks that even if it takes another five whole years, they’ll tell Harry everything he forgot.


End file.
